The Solicitor's Wife
by Serena89
Summary: Lady Mary Crawley does not only brave the storm. She becomes the storm, when she decides to fight for her happiness.
1. Chapter 1

_I was baffled that Mary or Lord Grantham wouldn't fight Carlisle's threats, and I felt like Mary and Matthew didn't deserve to go through a sexual scandal. I've done some researches, read a couple of Case Studies of the time, and tried to make Mary's defense sound as believable as possible. Please forgive any mistake. I'm not familiar with legal jargon. I'm currently without a beta and English is not my first language. I'll be happy to correct any mistake, so please point them out. Enjoy!_

* * *

><p><em>February, 1920<em>

The party was heading back to the big house, after having enjoyed luncheon in the woods. Cora had insisted for an adventurous birthday celebration, and nobody had the heart to deny one to her (after everything the past years had brought) so they all faced the cold, with the Dowager Countess mumbling about the "peculiarity of your American wife, Robert" with a fond undertone that went not missed.

The old, magnificent walls of Downton came into view; suddenly Mary felt someone tugging at her arm and pulling, her back against a tree with a swift albeit gentle move. Now hidden from prying eyes, Matthew stole a soft kiss from her lips asking for forgiveness. She took him in, closer than he had been the whole day, with an unabashed, boyish smirk that didn't seem apologetic in the least. She smiled back.

"I've missed you."

"We've been together the whole day long, Matthew."

"I've missed _you." _

His eyes never leaving hers, he descended on her again. This time his lips captured hers leisurely, painfully slow. Mary's hand went to rest on his sternum, where she played with the buttons on his shirt as she granted him further access with a soft sigh. They parted again. Mary's eyes were dark pools by now, her neck was flushed and her lips glistened. She had never looked more beautiful.

"We should tell them, you know. It's been almost two months."

"I thought you enjoyed sneaking around, given how eager you were to attract me behind a tree."

"Why do you think Carlisle hasn't published yet?"

The question hit her like a cold grip on her heart, and she had to look away to avoid his searching gaze. Of course he could see right through her, and the reason she delayed the announcement. When they got engaged, she was ready to brace the upcoming storm. But as the weeks passed, Carlisle didn't seem to have any intention to strike just yet. Her strength and resolution fading, she feared what was to come.

"I hardly know. I can imagine he wants to use his weapon when he knows it's going to make the most damage. When we announce the engagement, maybe. Or when the papers will report our wedding, when it's bound to flame up the gossip."

She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed, suddenly wearied out. Matthew caressed her face, so gently she wondered whether he was touching her or if she was imagining it.

"Hey" she opened her eyes at the sound of his voice "everything is going to be fine."

"You say so but-"

"I _know _so. I've gone through a heartbreak, a war, an epidemic and I broke your grandmother's vase. I'm not living in doubt and fear anymore. I'm not wasting any more time. I _want _the rest of our lives to start as soon as possible."

She smiled. "Oh, I don't know. I was enjoying this naughty, secret side of you."  
>She bit her lip, trying to contain her smile at his shocked expression, before adding "But you're right, we should tell them. And until then, no more improper meetings in the woods."<p>

She jokingly tried to escape, knowing they were back on safe grounds.

That's when he pulled something out of his pocket, holding it on his palm for her to see. The ring was delicate, and simple. So different from the vulgar item Carlisle tried to force on her finger. She stared at the diamond at its top, whose sparkle was unlike any other she had seen, with glimmers of blue and lilac.

"I brought the gem back from France, and had it engraved. I found it shining in the mud one night, wondering how something so little and precious could still fight the oblivion and sparkle in the filth. I picked it up, to remember beauty _did_ survive somewhere, no matter what. Diamonds never cease to exist."

And when he slid the ring on her finger, Mary knew she was going to announce the engagement: she would not only brave the storm. She would dominate it.

* * *

><p><em>March, 1920<em>

Matthew brought a hand to his face, trying to scratch away the weariness of the day. It was still 11am, he was stuck behind an office desk for six more hours. He forced himself to give his attention back to the paperwork he was examining, picking up yet another case file.

The door burst open, showing the nervous face of his new assistant.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Mr Crawley, but there's someone asking to meet with you immediately."

"I don't have appointments for today. Tell them they'll have to call back and fix a date with you."

"I tried to but she said she was-"

_"Lady Mary Crawley"_ she said, stressing the words while she let herself in, disregarding John with an haughty glare. "Really Matthew, one would think an assistant should know the name of their employer's fiancée. You can go now."

She urged him out with a dismissing wave of her hand, and Matthew could see the relief in John's eyes to be let out of the room. When the door closed, Mary let her façade fall and smiled broadly, approaching his desk.

"You're a solicitor."

She said, as if it was the most wonderful discover she had made.

"A boring, middle-class lawyer who can barely hold a knife like a gentleman, if I recall correctly."

"Oh shut up Matthew. How many times do I have to repeat you to forget about that? Listen to what I'm _saying_! You're a _solicitor_! Can't you _see_?"

He was now worrying for his fiancée's excited blur; he got up, circled around the desk, and stood in front of her trying to decipher her victorious smile.

"I used to think position and money gave you power, but oh I had never thought that nowadays not even a King has more power than the one who has the knowledge to bend the intricate web of strings that rules this society. Law, Matthew, is a wonderfully sharp weapon."

As he began to gather up what she meant, she put her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him down to her. Her kiss was not gentle, and not chaste in the least. It was fierce, like a lioness claiming her pray, and he suddenly felt blood running faster as his hands went to her waist, reacting with as much _need. _Their bodies couldn't feel close enough, heat radiating through their clothes as they stumbled against his desk, his much hated paperwork now discarded. When John knocked on his door asking if Lady Mary wished some tea, they jumped away from each others as if hit by a shockwave. Flushed and happy, she asked him to start working on his new case, because she wanted a Spring wedding, before swiftly running out of the door and leaving Matthew hot and bothered.

* * *

><p><em>A week later<em>

Being back in Sir Richard Carlisle's office was proving to be a hard task, she mused, as she crossed the door of the tall, imposing building in London. She straightened her shoulders, and held her head up high, one hand clutching a letter and the other holding tightly on Matthew's upper arm. It was her battle, one she had to fight alone, but knowing Matthew would be out of Carlisle's office (ready to punch him, if the situation called for it – she mentally chuckled) gave her enough confidence to open its door and disappearing from his view.

Sir Richard sat behind his desk; his features showed smugness, his body was relaxed against his chair, hands loosely lying on his desk. He had been waiting long for the moment Lady Mary Crawley would come back to him to _beg; _he motioned her to sit, and was taken aback when she chose not to.

"This isn't going to take long, Richard."

"As you wish. But let me inform you that you're deluding yourself if you think that pleading will convince me to forget about your filthy scandal."

"_Au contraire_, Richard, I'm here merely to give you the chance to save yourself some trouble and choose not to publish. See, I intended to notify you that in case you did – you'd be facing utter ruin."

Her face showed nothing if not a steel resolution. He emitted a humorless laugh.

"I think you got the sentence wrong, _dear_. In fact, your little gossip might earn me a considerable sum. Sex sells."

"In that case, let me tell you that I intend to file charges against you and your company for libel and false statement to a woman's discredit. As it comes out" – Mary opened the letter she was carrying – _"English law allows actions for libel to be brought in the High Court for any published statements alleged to defame a named individual in a manner that causes a reasonable person to think worse of them, so that they would be shunned and avoided.". _I guess I'd see you in court, where you'll have to respond for both a civil and, as it turns out, penal crime."

"Lady Mary, I think you forgot to mention that whatever I'm going to publish is true."

"And how exactly can you product evidence that confirms that? The statement of a deranged, dead woman? Hardly subpoenable, I don't see how she could testify in court. And even if you could find anyone at the Turkish Embassy ready to confirm they've heard the rumor it stays that. A rumor. Does your newspaper publish every rumor a ladies' maid hears about? Doesn't seem a very reliable news source, don't you agree? But what's more (isn't it great, being a solicitor's fiancée?), is that "_The damages on a person in a very exalted position must be very great, because the publicity surrounding her was greater. (Sir Patrick Hastings)._".

"Smooth. But as you happily point out, you're engaged. There's no damage on your behalf, so my publication cannot be"

-"_Words spoken and published which impute unchastity or adultery to any woman or girl shall not require special damage to render them actionable. The imputation of a woman's unchastity is necessarily defamatory. Slander of Women's act (1891)." _It appears Queen Victoria was very concerned with our reputation. You want to portray me as a woman who has been defiled, and I wonder who is going to ask an English Jury to say that is not defamatory."

"You can drag me to court, but the reparation will be minimal. Believe me, it'll cost me nothing."

"I believe that, and I'm not here for the money. I've never been quite as venial as you are; my lot believe money is a vulgar matter. No. I'm talking about reputation. As you kept reminding me, you sell papers for a living and this business is a jungle. If the jury rules in my favor, which is bound to happen, they'll have said you print lies on your papers, even worse: that you use your media power for your personal vendettas. How will that resonate for your company? I'm sure your competitors will feast over it, you'd lose credibility, you'd lose audience. One mistake, and the wolves will eat you alive. Isn't that what you always said?"

She was smiling now, feeling finally free. How liberating had been, finally fighting against Sir Richard and seeing his confidence slowly abandoning him, the color draining from his face, his lips livid. Trapped for months in his grip of threats, she felt her heart racing with adrenaline at her victory. She approached his desk, handing him the letter she was quoting.

"My lawyer took care of spelling it out for you. You can let your legal office give a look at it. They'll confirm everything I've said can and will happen, I'll _make _it happen."

He stared at her for a moment, his composure now lost.

" It appears I've lost again. Don't worry, I'll never expose your filthy exploits. They'll be on your skin for as long as you live. But let me tell you this: are you sure that's what you want? This is your last chance."

Confused, Mary replied "My skin is none of your concerns. I request you not to publish, or I'll see you in court."

"Very well. You can go now. But remember what I'm telling you: you'll regret what you've wished for."

With a last sever glare, she left the room not deigning him with a retort.

Suddenly she felt tired. She quickly walked, almost ran (but not quite. Ladies don't run.) to Matthew, and let him embrace her tightly. She forgot where they stood, she disregarded propriety and prying eyes. He soothed her, caressing her back while she hid her face in the croon of his neck inhaling his scent.

"Let's go home."

She took the hand he was offering, and they left together. They had a wedding to plan.

TBC?

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><p><span>Author's Notes:<span> this could very well be a one-shot. I'm considering the idea of writing a segue to it, to explain Mary's choice to fight back, focus on their Spring Wedding and discover what Richard truly meant when he said she would regret it. Let me know whether or not these stories would be worth telling.


	2. Chapter 2

_Thank you for your kind support, in every form it came. It helped me to find enough confidence to write a second and a third chapter for this story. I hope this one won't disappoint you. A few notes: there's an Easter Egg in the form of a quote from a very wise, very old book-character that Violet might've met in one form.  
>Matthew is referring to Elizabeth Gaskell's <em>North and South_.  
>This chapter has some doses of fluffiness. Considering that the next ones are going to be painful, I thought Mary and Matthew deserved some unspoiled time together. Enjoy and please forgive my mistakes. One day I'll grasp the intricacies of the English Language, but that day is not today.<em>

**Chapter 2**

"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, my dear."

Her grandmother's voice resonated through the drawing room as she approached it. When she crossed the door, Edith stood from where she was sitting, opposite to the Dowager Countess. Her expression somber, she excused herself and rushed out with an apologetic smile to her sister.

Shaking her head in despair, Violet addressed Mary's presence "Young girls have a knack for choosing _precisely_ the things that are worst for them."

Mary took the chair Edith had previously occupied nonchalantly and rebuffed to her grandmother's meddling "The heart wants what the heart wants. And Edith is old enough to make her own choices, make her own mistakes.". _I just want her to be happy_. The reality of the thought startled her for a moment; she had come closer to Edith, and sincerely hoped the best for her. As long as she didn't have to tell her so.

"But Mary, why can't she just let us introduce her to some young, interesting fellow? You know, there are Italians very keen to marry an English aristocrat nowadays"

"You thought Sir Anthony was a good enough catch not too long ago"

"Before he became an invalid, sure. Never mind. That's not why I summoned you here. So." she shot her a poignant, questioning look "How did it go?"

Mary sighed, not quite ready to revive her conversation with Carlisle. "I suppose it went well. He seemed livid, so I must've hit a nerve."

"So we've roused the sleeping dragon"

"I wouldn't say he was sleeping. Waiting, possibly. I don't think he'll publish but...there's something I can't figure out"

She had religiously kept that last part of their encounter from Matthew. She couldn't understand what Richard had meant, it could've been an empty threat, but some part of her chose not to reveal it nevertheless.

"You made the right choice, my dear. People like us didn't make it this far without managing to pull some strings, make some light threats or using their best assets when the situation called for it. I was quite surprised it hadn't occurred to you before. It would've spared us his presence at Christmas."

"I guess I didn't think I deserved to save myself before. Every mistake comes with a price to pay."

"You've paid more than enough"

She nodded, sipping her tea.

_You've lived your life and I've lived mine. Now it's time...we live them together._

Jumping out of her reverie, she noticed her grandmother was tapping her cane on the carpet and staring at her with amusement.

"What does Matthew think of Carlisle's threats?" as to answer to Mary's surprised expression, she elaborated further. "A man like Carlisle doesn't quit without a good fight."

"I...didn't inform him. There can't be anything to his threats anyway. There isn't dirt he can unearth, and he can hardly fabricate a story to avoid a lawsuit for libel. It wouldn't make much sense."

"It wouldn't, I agree. But there's always something to find for the man who's willing to dig deep enough. Let's not discuss it further. We can't let you be distracted by this nonsense when you have a wedding to plan in less than a month. Why such a rush, I'll never understand. It's a folly."

Grateful for the change of topic, she smiled fondly at Violet. "Let's not be tragic, Granny. How hard could it be?"

* * *

><p>It was early in the afternoon when he found her. She was laying on a park bench shielded by an old oak from the big house; one hand draped on her face to protect her closed eyes from the sun, one long leg swinging off the bench. Lady Mary: slouching, relaxed and lightly disheveled, immersed in the afternoon sun.<p>

He quietly chuckled to himself. It was a rare sight, one he was glad to be stealing a glimpse of, and a side of her he soon hoped she'd reveal to him more often once...

"I can hear you breathing"

Having the decency to blush, he looked at her while she sat herself straight on the bench, making a show of smoothing down her gown while he took his place next to her.

"Hiding out?"

"Good heavens, you have no idea. They're _insane_."

"_I wonder if a marriage must always be preceded by a whirlwind, or whether in some cases there might not rather be a calm and peaceful time just before it_"

Mary shot him a deadly glare. This was a serious business, and they were driving her mad.

"Marvelous. You waste your time reading girly novels while I have muslins of any shape and dimension, flowers, cake frostings, ribbons, any sort of fabric thrown at me by our frenzied mothers."

"It's not a waste of time, it's research"

"How so, pray?" she turned toward him, and while her face showed her patented annoyance, she was grateful to be distracted by his silly nonsense. As if oblivious to the tone of their conversation, she took his hand, tracing the back of it with her fingers. She did like a good argument, and she had no qualms when it came to winning it with...unorthodox methods.

"Country girl falls in love with the originally hideous middle-class man from an industrial city?"

"_Upper_ middle-class. And I'm an Earl's daughter, hardly a rural, country girl."

He grinned, which further fueled her irritation. "Potato, _Potatoh_"

She dropped his hand to smack him on the chest, a playful fire in her eyes. "If you're not careful I'll tell Mama you have strong opinions on the flower arrangement that you'd like to discuss with her."

Throwing his hands in the air in a display of mock surrender, he told her to turn. She complied, mollified by the pleasant weather and the drowsiness that hadn't quite left her yet. His hands were on her shoulders, massaging away the tension.

"Mh. That's better."

"What about the...problem you've discussed with cousin Violet?"

"Subtle, Matthew. Aren't lawyers supposed to be less blatant?"

He shrugged, even if she couldn't see it, while he kept his ministrations going. "I'm a company lawyer: I compile paperwork, make calls, study cases, occasionally threaten people"

"My boring boy...ah" his hands had slid dangerously down, applying more pressure in a particularly soft spot. She couldn't bring herself to be ashamed of the moan that escaped her. "Very boring indeed" but her voice was hoarser now. She wouldn't let him win. "To answer your question...I've spoken to Granny. She believes he won't publish my story, but advised me to be prepared"

"Do you think he could do worse that?"

"I don't know. Maybe. Carlisle is many things, but predictable isn't one of them. He could publish anyway out of spite. _Scripta manet._ If he saw through our bluff he'll know that once a word is out - no matter the lawsuit that will follow, no matter his subsequent confutation - the rumor will survive. He could still strike me."

"He won't". The words were whispered next to her ear. His hands had stilled on her neck, his breath tickling its skin.

"Oh Mary for heaven's sake here you are! Can you believe Isobel wants to use the gramophone for the wedding? My daughter, to marry without an orchestra - this is ludicrous!"

Mary and Matthew had promptly jumped apart, their hands caught in the proverbial cookie jar. Cora pretended not to notice, their red, abashed faces enough to soften her. Mary stood, flashing a tortured smile at her fiancée, before following her mother. Just another week, she told herself. She could make it.

* * *

><p>The ceremony had been simple. After a month of Cora's grand planning and Isobel's (un)helpful inputs, Mary had snapped. She stripped it off to the essential: raw, honest, without pretense, her wedding was going to be centered around her and Matthew, not the flower arrangement.<p>

Monday. A whirlwind of white veils, hair pins, Sybil's excited giggles, her mother's tears, her father's protective hold on her elbow, Matthew's open mouth (he never changes, her boy, her boring boy, her dearest boy), words of promises, bright eyes, rehearsed vows, the dulled sound of clapping as her lips met his to seal their lock.

Just like that, in a confused haze as dreams usually are, she walked out of the chapel, her hand in Matthew's, the wedding party following just behind.

And that's when it hit her.

Waiting for them there was a crowd of curious people, busy fingers clutching on newspapers, and journalist frantically grabbing their notepads as soon as they spot them.

Strong in Matthew's secure hold of her hand, she closed her eyes and braced herself for the questions that were to come.

Nothing happened.

As she opened them again, she noticed that the journalists had rushed right past her, that the eyes of the crowd scanned through her in search of something else. Sending a quizzical look at an equally lost Matthew, she grabbed a newspaper from a nearby woman and stared at it in horror as the crowd surrounded her father.

_The Good Deeds of the Earl:_

**Upstairs, Downstairs**

_ The wealth gap in our society is a very discussed issue in these post-war times, but there are still some, like the venerable Earl of Grantham, who use their power and money to help the less fortunate. We're not talking about anonymous, dry charity: as it happens, the Earl takes personal interest in his servants' life. Or, as our sources reveal, in one of his former female employees in particular._

_ Mrs. Jane Moorsum's life changed when she was hired at Downton; a war widow, she caught the attention of our Lord Grantham. We won't speculate on what spurred his generosity, but using his influence he got Frederick Moorsum, the son of the aforementioned Jane, into one of the top private schools of the Country. The school board confirmed that Lord Grantham paid Freddie's fees for the future, and our sources reveal a trust fund was open at his name by an anonymous benefactor to cover the expenses for his studies. We're sure that our readers will appreciate that in this hard, selfish world there are still people like Lord Grantham, choosing favorites among his stuff and changing their lives for good. Why would an Earl care so much for a maid's child, we cannot know. Times are changing after all. Or maybe not so much. In fact, after the events that proved Robert Crawley's great generosity, Jane Moorsum's services were no longer required at Downton. An interesting turn, that adds mystery to this Dickensonian modern fairytale._

Mary stared blankly at the page, the implication of the article loud and clear. She trembled. It was a warm April Day.

**TBC**

_Author's note__: so, this chapter was basically a prelude to the next one. Prepare yourself for more legal jargon, and tricky subterfuges. Reviews are welcome, they really do prompt me to write more and sooner _


	3. Chapter 3

_When he woke up that morning, he had expected a long day of happy celebration._

Robert Crawley ushered shut the door of his study, as Matthew and Murray sat down. He slowly walked behind his desk, and gravely studied the faces of the two men of law he summoned in the dark privacy of the room.

He fluttered his eyelids close for a moment, unwanted images occupying his thoughts before he could stop them.

_Mary, in her white dress, escorting Cora to the sitting room, every woman of the family closing around them protectively. Matthew, squeezing tenderly Mary's hand, before marching back to the Church and clearing out the crowd with smooth, calm words._

He opened his eyes again.

"I want to see that man in jail. Sue him for slander, frame him, I don't care how you do it, but I will not sit here while he destroys my name, my family."

Murray cleared his throat, before replying tentatively. "I'm afraid it's not possible, Lord Grantham. Whoever wrote that article was thorough - his facts are unassailable."

"I did _not_ have an affair with that woman! What was implied-"

"We can hardly base a lawsuit on opinion. Defamation claims cannot be brought based on what one might or might not read from the facts stated. My hands are tied."

Robert sighed, finally sitting down. "Then what do we do?" he asked, dimly.

His question fell away, lost in the room as the door opened and Richard Carlisle was unexpectedly announced.

"How _dare_ you show your face here?"

"Let's not be harsh. I come in peace. I think, in fact, that I may just have the solution to your problems."

"Executioner and savior. How quaint."

Richard smirked at Matthew's dry humor, and took a sit opposite to the Earl, uninvited.

"I would assume that you were going to offer me refreshment, but the evidence so far suggests that that would be optimistic to the point of foolishness."

"Make it quick, Carlisle. We have a wedding to attend." replied Robert, with a calmness he didn't know he could possess.

"In the village of Gomersall" he began, with no intention of making his enjoyment in any way quick, "a man had finished for himself a dream house, commanding a beautiful view down the valley. He would look out of the window and enjoy the wondrous panorama. His enemy couldn't bear it, so opposite to this house he erected a strange looking cottage: built of rough unhewn stones, many of them projecting considerably, with uncouth heads and grinning faces carved upon them. This building shut out the beloved view, and upon a stone above the door, now the once happy man could read, in large letters, 'SPITE HALL'"

Sir Richard ended his story with a smug grin, surveying the room for reaction. There was none. Casting his stern eyes on the media mogul, Robert Crawley addressed him with tired countenance "I thought you were here to discuss business." It wasn't what Carlisle was hoping for, but the show was still far from over.

"I had been aware of this particular indiscretion for quite a while, but refrained to use it given our… special connection."

"And yet now you seem in a habit of printing lies on your papers."

"Facts, not lies, is all I've reported. What the reader might deduct from them is not my responsibility. But I'm sure your lawyers have already informed you in that regard." Richard shot a glance in Matthew's direction. His jaw was set and tense, his eyes cast on him defiantly. "Luckily", he continued amiably "You have a choice. I can deny what's been written, blame it on a careless journalist, clear your respectable name."

"I assume it wouldn't come from the goodness of your heart."

"I'm a businessmen, Lord Grantham. I don't deal with my heart. What I want, is the truth. Mr. Bates hearings for a retrial are scheduled for next week. I'm sure Mr. Murray here is examining new witnesses to subpoena, is he not?"

"So what, you're interested in a press coverage of the case?"

"I _am_ a witness. Mrs. Bates came to _me_ to sell her story, your daughter's exploit. I have a signed, legal document to prove it. She also said that her only reason to attack your family was to seek revenge against her husband, and when that failed she swore that 'Bates wouldn't get away with it'. I'm sure the judge would find the story interesting, were I to repeat it in court. It'd help the suicide hypothesis, wouldn't it?"

"You're a bastard." Matthew's words were clear, but not shouted; as hard as steel. He turned to Robert, who was looking at him questioningly. "_Absolute privilege_. Proceedings publicly heard before any court (be it a tribunal or body exercising judicial power) can be reported in any newspaper. It won't matter whether the allegations are true or not, if he goes to the witness stand, his newspapers can rightly publish Mary's story."

Matthew's hands gripped the armrests until his knuckles turned white. Punching him again won't do it. He tried to remember today was supposed to be the happiest day of his life.

"Isn't it wonderful to have a solicitor in the family?" Carlisle exclaimed. "Law of Libel Amendment Act. Two of us can play at this game." he added, for Matthew's benefit, before turning his attention back to the Earl."It's your choice, Lord Grantham. You can let your daughter be publically exposed for the filthy mistake she made, or both you and your valet can be condemned for crimes you did not commit. Won't you let an innocent man have his best chance at life?"

Robert Crawley stood to his full height, facing Carlisle. Eyeing Matthew to make sure he wouldn't react to the man's provocations, he swallowed and said "Carson will lead you out, Sir Richard. We have nothing more to discuss."

"I know the way. Ball's in your court, _your_ _lordship_".

As Carlisle left the room, Robert collapsed back on his chair, his face ashen, and his eyes closed in meditation.

* * *

><p>When Matthew made it back home it was dark outside. Mary had left Downton hours ago, taking care of canceling their wedding party meticulously. She didn't shed a tear, didn't flinch. In fact, it was her calmness, the studied way she moved around the house instructing servants to take down the flowers and get more tea to her mother, that worried him. Such were his thoughts as he slipped in his - <em>their<em> - dimly lit bedroom, not bothering to change out of his clothes.

He found Mary sitting at her vanity, delicately applying cream on her hands. She was wearing a long, white gown, almost transparent with the sole table lamp to illuminate her frame, so that he could only distinguish the outline of her round curves, and wonder whether or not she was an apparition. Her hair fell in soft waves on her shoulders, and he realized he had never seen it down. Suddenly he felt heat rising from his stomach to his face, the desire to slip his fingers in her hair, and then down her neck, so strong that his hands itched. He coughed uncomfortably, chastising himself. Given the day's events he should be here to support her, comfort her, not giving in to-

His train of thoughts was halted by the smile she flashed him through the mirror. Her eyes were dancing, amused at his discomfort as she turned to face him, granting him a full view of her cleavage. Modest, she was feeling not.

"Darling, you're home." her tone was flippant, as she regarded him with a full smile. He knew those eyes, he had lost himself in them when he had stolen a kiss (two, ten, a hundred) from her; he saw the same mischievous glint when she had taken the last strawberry from his hands and then innocently added that he could've tasted it on her lips anyway. She was, in short, up to no good.

He stood by the doorway, keeping his distance. "Carlisle came to talk to your father. He presented him with-"

"_Don't_."

"Mary, you don't have to do this. You don't have to pretend nothing happened, not with me. No more masks, no more facades."

"I don't need to _pretend_. Whatever happened with my father, with Carlisle...I left it out of that door. This is already a crowded marriage, Matthew. Let's not turn it into a crowded bedroom too."

This was her wedding night, _goddamnit_, and she chose not to let Sir Richard Carlisle play any role in it when she broke off their engagement. She had been upset, she had been angry. But when she'd immersed herself in the bath Anna had fixed for her, she felt the tension leave her body. With flushed cheeks, she realized that all she could think of, all she would think of, was Matthew. His hands, long fingers often smudged with ink when he went through paperwork. His neck, that would blush when at dinner she'd let her hand graze on his upper arm. His cheeky smile, full lips and unabashed eyes when he had kissed her on her neck, and then up her jaw to her ear whispering "We're getting married tomorrow, Lady Mary".

No, she had determined, right now she couldn't find in herself the resolve to care about anything beyond this night.

"I know you care."

"I do. But I can prioritize. We can deal with everything Carlisle wants to throw at us. Together. Tomorrow."

"You don't have to feel obliged-"

A pillow hit him straight in the face. Somehow, she had jumped to the bed and got hold of her weapon before he could realize it.

"Stop fussing, Mr. Crawley."

Finally, he surrendered to her wishes, letting this awful day slide past him. He circled the bed, kneeling on it mirroring Mary's stance so that he could face her. "I'm still in my dress suit, Mrs. Crawley."

Satisfied, Mary drew him closer, slowly working on his tie. "I'm sure we can do something about it.".

* * *

><p>Breath.<p>

Hands, roaming, discovering, teasing mercilessly and then seeking forgiveness.

Open mouthed kisses, falling wherever they could, marking, counting scars, and freckles, each learning the curves of their bodies, the quiver of their muscles, the taste of their skin.

Limbs, gripping at each others, tentatively and tenderly, then with growing urgency, desperate to feel more, clutching at one another as the world slipped away and there was nothing but them.

Bodies, merged as one, still, overwhelmed by the simple act of being complete, full, before the friction spurred them to start their own dance, slow, before the need drove them to race and nothing mattered anymore.

Whispers, words of love, and promises, until they could hear nothing but moans, cries, and breathing, and you didn't know where one began and the other ended.

Hands, joined, palms meeting, fingers enclosing, arms stretching as he pressed them together by her face, as they were lost, and found.

Cold sweat, warm bodies. Legs keeping him in place, when _after_ had no meaning. Feather kisses on her now closed eyelids.

Breath.

* * *

><p>Carson said her father was waiting for her in the library. She followed the butler, with confident steps. Her fingers traced a pattern where the wrist met her palm, the ghost of Matthew's kiss still there.<p>

Robert was waiting by the liquor cart, fixing himself a drink. She positioned herself on the settee.

"Mary."

Did she blame him, for making himself vulnerable, for betraying her mother's trust? Did he blame her, for causing an unfounded gossip to blow out of proportion in Carlisle's attempt to hurt her? They both let the questions drop, unanswered.

"Matthew told me what Carlisle asked you to do."

He was taken aback by her collected statement. He was expecting to face her disappointment, even contempt, but he found he couldn't read her expression.

"Murray thinks Bates might benefit from Carlisle's confession."

"Will you accept?"

"How could you think I would?"

"Bates could be freed."

"You're my _daughter_." without thinking, he took hold of her hands. "You're my daughter. Carlisle could threaten to take anything, everything away from me, and I would never let him get to you. You must know that."

She nodded, her gaze scrutinizing the truth behind his eyes.

"I needed to hear it from you. And anyway, I wouldn't have let you, or Carlisle, blame me for what happened yesterday. That was a tragedy of your own doing."

"So I'm not forgiven."

Mary hugged him, feeling like her eight years old self, desperately clinging to her father when he had come back from the war, intending to never let go.

And as she felt her him relax in her embrace, she whispered "There's nothing to forgive. After all, you wouldn't be the first Crawley to make a mistake."

He chuckled, releasing her. "But I'm afraid there's still nothing we can do about Carlisle."

"Oh, Papa" she began. He looked again at his daughter: he saw the woman she had become, he noticed her confident smile and knowing eyes as she raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, channeling his own mother. And he knew she had entered this room with the intent to fight back. "Don't be defeatist. It's so very middleclass."

TBC

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **First of all, thank you for your support and for your patience. I hope you're not too tired by this fanfiction, bear with me and with my muse. Your appreciation, shown in any form, spurred me to finally write more. I'm sorry if this chapter was somehow boring, but I needed to shift my attention to Carlisle and Robert, and to somehow justify his attack (hence Matthew's quoting of the 1888's law). I hope it didn't sound too OOC, but I wanted Carlisle to react in a cruel yet calculating way. We'll see a different, less collected side of him in the next chapter. I've struggled with Mary and Matthew's love scene, I'm unable to write it. And I've spent a week on the dialogue, failing. Let me know what you think in a review nevertheless, because it makes me happy.

PS: somewhere in this chapter there's a Dumbledore's quote. Who finds it first gets a spoiler.


	4. Chapter 4

Mary sat in the morning room, illuminated by the warm midday sun, sipping contently on her tea as she enjoyed a late, late breakfast with her husband. She looked at him through her eyelashes, covering a smile with her cup as Matthew took a large bite on his butter and marmalade toast, making a show of chewing before swallowing it with some coffee. She rolled her eyes in mock disapproval of his poor manners, before snagging his folded copy of the Telegraph and she pretended to read it as he took scones from her plate to retaliate.

How normal he looked, she mused, and yet the same man who only a few hours ago belonged to the rumpled creases of the fresh linen bed and the secrets that took place within. He was still _Matthew_, but somehow she found herself fascinated with the way he looked in the morning: soft, and loose-limbed, relaxed shoulders and long, industrious fingers (_he licked them from the remaining crumbs of her scone. She rolled her eyes. He noticed her chest swelling as her breathing increased_.); desperately aware and unconsciously romantic; an air of doomed vulnerability and proud strength; the strange purity of his desire, so unlike the practiced, sterile urgency she had known, but overwhelming, completing. This man, whose shirt was now stained with apricot marmalade.

"I've been going through the wedding presents." she said, discarding the newspaper, in a hoarse voice she did not recognize. He replied with a non-committal "Hm", but before she could give any sign of annoyance his bare foot was caressing her ankle. His face the perfect image of innocence. "I think I've found something particularly interesting. Who would've known, American relatives can actually turn out to be quite useful." Two of them could play this game, she thought, as his foot ran up on her calf and under her gowns to apply pressure on the spot behind her knee. "Lovely" he commented with a smile, and his foot bravely reached her inner thigh, tickling her there.

Mary reached down and blocked it through the soft fabric of her dress.

"Don't begin something you don't intend to finish."

"Who's saying I don't intend to?" he wriggled his foot against her hands to prove his point, and finally let his features show mischief.

"Weren't you supposed to be a dull city boy who only enjoyed reading and...working?" his foot, while still in her grip, had managed to brush against her underwear, which was dampening with anticipation.

"You've clearly corrupted me, Lady Mary."

She wondered about that, knowing full well he'd never been too shy when it came to flirting, but deciding to indulge him anyway.

"Too bad I like good boys."

"I am a good boy."

A reply died on her lips as another voice interrupted them "I'm pretty sure your teachers would've had something to say about that."

"Mother." His foot rushed away from her as Mary pretended to brush something off from her lap, hoping their under-table activities had gone undetected. Matthew stood up – if he was feeling some discomfort, he showed none. Mary took a few moments before turning to her mother-in-law and welcomed her with a practiced, polite smile. Isobel noticed his son's red ears, and hid a smile. Sometimes you let children snag cookies and get away with it.

"You're having a peculiar luncheon, I daresay."

"We asked Moseley to serve breakfast instead. We must've…overslept."

"So I see. Well. Don't let me disturb you further. I was just passing to leave you these. The files you requested arrived this morning at the post office and I thought I'd drop them to you immediately. Mr. Elton seemed to think they were urgent.".

Mary raised a questioning eyebrow at Matthew, but kept quiet as the scene unfolded before her eyes. She refused to be embarrassed in her own home, and her silence was no sign of shyness. Curious, she let her eyes wander to the parcel Isobel was holding.

"Yes. Thank you Mother, I was waiting for those." He took hold of the files his mother was handing him with some urgency, glancing briefly back at Mary.

"Very well then. I'll leave you to your…breakfast. If you need me I'll be in the sitting room." She stressed the last sentence before leaving, as Matthew shifted between his feet.

"Do you plan on telling me what's so important about those files or do I have to start guessing?"

Clearing his throat, Matthew stepped closer to her to explain. "Remember how I told you I needed to be updated about the changes undergone in our juridical system as I was…away?".

She nodded, and managed to close her eyes only briefly at the mention of his role in the war.

"Well, a senior associate told me about this relatively new Act that could come in handy given our current situation with Carlisle. I thought I'd look into it first, but I believe there's a good chance to shut him up for good."

Mary stood up, beaming at _her dorky, wonderful husband. _He added, as she drew closer, "Suddenly Law sounds sexy, right?"

She brought her lips to his ear, letting her hands lay on his chest, as she whispered. "No." Mary pulled away, a wicked smile playing on her lips, as she stepped back to enjoy his discomfort. "And I don't want to distract you from your papers, you clearly have some work to do. Those files aren't going to read themselves, and I don't intend to wait days to face Carlisle and be done with it."

Matthew began to protest, but she shushed him with a quick peck on the lips before fleeing the room with a "Chop chop!". Left alone, he groaned as he opened his envelope – hoping the documents it contained would very well be worth it.

* * *

><p>It was an English spring day, with a grey sky, electric air and a sharp biting wind. Mary set foot in the Great Hall, with a sense of anticipation that scared and thrilled her in equal parts. She took in her surroundings, determining that it was just fair that this room, witness to countless events of her life, the room where most things began, was to be the stage of this last act. She was not fearless, she was not always truthful and she learned the hard way not to be foolish, but as she straightened her shoulders she felt every inch of the storm braver Matthew had seen in her.<p>

Richard was let in as she was busying herself trafficking with some records laying beside the gramophone. The screeching, dull, comforting sound of the stylus on a now silent record reverberating in the room. She was the first to speak, without turning in his direction.

"A wedding gift. From the American branch of the family. I would've sent a thank you note sooner, but as you'd imagine, I've had some hectic days."

When she looked at him, she saw him smiling. It was not the usual, albeit rare smile she had come to know during their engagement. There was something sinister, snake-like about him, twisted and maybe sad. He soon recollected, and having put on an amiably facade, as if they were discussing the weather, he stepped closer to her.

"I think congratulations are in order. You must've had an interesting wedding day. I've heard the family loved it, your father was particularly thrilled."

She stepped around the table and behind the gramophone, putting a physical barrier between Carlisle and herself, seeking the comfort of protection. He was facing her, his hands on the scattered records' cases, his body leaning forward.

"Oh, pipe down, will you? Threatening me to publish, as you once put it, my own "filthy scandal" if I didn't marry you was low enough. But lashing out against my family verges on spiteful and pathetic. Even for you."

"You're not in the position to be so foul, Mary. I still have the power to destroy every, little bit of credibility your father has left. I still have the power to determine the wretched life of your little maid's husband on a whim. You _want_ to be kind."

"I want to be crude. And straightforward - isn't it how you fight your battles in business? I had been listening."

He laughed, and shook his head.

"There is nothing to fight for, Mary. You could've married me. I would've done as I promised, I would've kept your scandal, _hell_, I would've kept your bloody family's scandals out of the media-radar. But you just had to run back to him, didn't you? I warned you not to cross me, Mary."

"Would I have married a man who threatened me with ruin? Owning a few papers doesn't make you God."

"No. But it does come in handy, doesn't it? Punishing you asked for more than your own public disgrace. You could've borne it, even if you went to great length to prevent it. But then, could you stand seeing your father paying for _your_ mistakes? Could you stand watching every day your dear, loyal Anna in the eyes and knowing that to save yourself you were depriving her husband of a chance at life? If there's something I've learned, is that you do have a heart after all."

"How pathetic you are. Concocting your twisted plan, using every mean to attack my family, and then have the guts to offer a deal to my father-"

"The perks of owning a _few papers_"

"You just don't get it, do you? You can burn Downton down, turn every brick to ashes, throw me on every front page of every newspaper, and it won't make me regret for _one_ moment choosing Matthew over you. You cannot win this war, Carlisle, because I will not bend in defeat. Whatever you toss my way, my will won't succumb. I love him, and nothing will make me wish otherwise."

"...can you not accept _facts_? You _love_ Matthew. What of it? With me, you could've been happy. What do you have now, what? A broken house, a marriage based on blame, the fallen lives of many men on your conscience. Lady Mary Crawley, the cursed Dame."

He was spluttering, his calm demeanor suddenly replaced by spiteful fury, almost shouting. Mary looked at him, wide eyed, and then laughed. It was a honest, relieved laugh, and Richard was so taken aback he had to physically step away from her, as if she had slapped him. Eventually, he cried out: "_What_?"

She restored a colloquial tone, almost conspiratorial, as she said "I was telling you about this wedding gift. Isn't it marvelous?"

Richard eyed the gramophone, its screeching sound now getting on his nerves.

"Would you turn that off? The song is over, and so is this conversation."

"The fact is - there was no song. And this conversation has just began, you'll want to listen carefully. So. Wedding gifts, an absolute nightmare of vases and silver cutlery. And then this Gramophone Recorder. Queer, isn't it? The screeching sound of a cutting stylus. As it happens, acoustic recording is quite fascinating. Of course, one needs to be speaking in the recording horn and you seemed to have put your face directly on it in your little tirade. It was quite a show. Loud and clear voice too, you have some drama quality in you."

"You've recorded this conversation? You, hellish creature-"

As if on cue, Matthew and Robert barged in the room, the former taking his place next to his wife. She glanced at him, and with a deep breath she cast her attention back on Carlisle.

"You _want_ to be kind, Richard. You don't want that record to be brought to a prosecutor, do you? Have you heard of 1916's Larceny Act, section 31? As you know, the devil's in the details."

Richard stared at her for a moment, then at Matthew. He nodded, and murmured "A solicitor's wife. Of course."

Mary proceeded.

"_Every person who with intent to extort any valuable thing from any person directly or indirectly threatens to print or publish, or directly or indirectly proposes to abstain from or offers to prevent the printing or publishing of any matter or thing touching any other person shall be guilty of a misdemeanour and on conviction thereof liable to imprisonment, with or without hard labour, for any term not exceeding two years._ Will you explain it to Sir Richard, darling?"

Matthew touched her elbow briefly, before doing as asked.

"You made a criminal use of your media power; by threatening to publish Mary's story did she not comply to your wishes first, and then offering a deal to Lord Grantham thus modeling the information your papers divulged to your own personal gain, disrupting the peace of the community and the reputation of an eminent personality which, in itself, would be subject to lawsuit. Not to mention the fact you held precious information over a murder trial, and later used it to extort a surrender from Robert Crawley. All in all, I'd say you're deep in mud."

Richard's face turned ashen, his hands closed in fists by his sides as he was mulling over the situation. When he spoke, his voice trembled but kept calm.

"I see. You just want this to go on, and on, refusing to give up, always intending to win and thrust everybody else in the dust."

Mary sighed, tiredly, the adrenaline leaving room for exhaustion. "I don't. I want this to be over, I want whatever strings might still be attached between us to be cut off. I am not interested in this power play, and had you- had you kept it between us, I would've let you have the last word. But you had to go against the ones I love and that, that I cannot bear. As far as I'm concerned, we can write an end to it, here and now. We both move on, and you'll find you'll make a profit out of it. You'd be free"

"But I'm not free to just walk away, am I?"

"No"

It was Matthew who spoke, an authority in his voice that he had by now mastered during the years of commanding soldiers in stressful situations. It was not a tone he recognized as his, but it suited him, Mary thought, as she let him speak. This time, they would handle it as a team.

"You won't need to clear out the Grantham's name. You've had your victory, Robert's name and ours by associations are tainted by doubt and scandal. You can enjoy that, if you can derive joy from such a thing, by all means, please do. BUT you will testify for Bates' benefit."

"Wouldn't that defeat the purpose? Mary's scandal would be out."

"Your testimony will be released in private to the Prosecutor; Mary's name will be withhold and obscured from the documents submitted as evidence. Where the disclosure of evidence may lead to the grave endangerment of a third party's reputation, the Prosecutor may, for the purposes of any proceedings conducted prior to the commencement of the trial, withhold such evidence or information and instead submit a summary thereof. And as we know, the accusation, however circumstantial, of a woman's impurity are immediately considered as highly damaging for her persona. Mary's name, or the accounts of the circumstances that led Vera Bates to have a story, are not relevant to the case. You will refrain from mentioning her name, your papers will not cover the story at all. In fact, you'll pull some strings and no paper will mention Bates' trial in a way that could arise any interest to the case. And we will not hear of this again, the story finally dead as the unfortunate Mr Pamuk. Are we clear?"

To Richard's silence, Mary demanded, with a more conciliatory tone than her husband's, "Do we have a deal?"

* * *

><p>Robert's story had, as expected, died out as fast as it was born. Juicier gossips were available for tea gatherings - with maids actually caught in some Count's bed, or worse, footmen in Dukes' bedrooms - and the ghost of a possible scandal was of little to no consequence for most. He was still talked of and whispered about among old village ladies every now and then, but then again, who wasn't?<p>

Cora had been hurt. The strains the story had put to his marriage were harder to recover from; in a way, he felt his atonement to have been long due. He apologized, and she believed him when he swore nothing happened, admitting however he had felt tempted to. Something had broken, but Robert wasn't one to let it so. It took some time, but she loved him, had loved him for thirty years, and you don't just stop however much you can be hurt. Cora set to have lunch with him again; then a daily walk; eventually he was allowed to sleep in their bed once again. It was not as it was, but it was not necessarily worse either. They were honest, and they were together, and for the time being, it was enough.

* * *

><p>Carlisle kept his word. Bates' acquittal is still a long way to come, but Matthew and Murray are optimistic, and Anna smiles again.<p>

* * *

><p>Mary was laying on the bench, her head resting in Matthew's lap as his hand played with her necklace. It was Summer.<p>

"Matthew. I'm happy."

She said that as if she could barely believe it, suspicious even. A sudden realization that hit her with unparalleled force, and left her breathless, confused, scared, and then strangely at peace. He wanted to say something, she could see his mouth twitching, his body shifting under her, but she had things to confess first. It wasn't the place to say them, and she wasn't really sure why she felt the sudden urge to, but that's just how they were with each others, when they were not building walls and running away. Honesty was not a thing she had always been able to afford. So she spoke before he could, but didn't push his hand away as it reached for her hair and started to play with the astray curls.

"When I first met you, I was quite determined to despise you, you know. A middle class solicitor who came from _Manchester_, who didn't ride-"

"I ride!"

"Bicycles don't count."

He began to protest, it was not in his nature to let things go, but she waved it off and reprised her speech.

"- someone who was oblivious to the lives my lot conducted, held them in a state of mockery even, and who was to take what was mine (_and then really never was_). You wouldn't have been too hard to hate, and you certainly weren't someone I was too keen to impress."

"When is the "but" bit coming? I have a pretty sensible ego, you know."

She went to pinch his arm, but ended up letting her hand linger on his bicep and kept it there, because she could.

"_But_ you didn't want to be impressed. For the first time, I didn't have to try hard. I didn't have to become someone else around you, laugh at jokes that weren't funny, talk about vacant things that would please anyone but me, plan every encounter studying the reaction each word might have. All the same, you were not intimidated by my looks, by what I tried to project. If I attacked you, you'd bite back. When you reached for me, I didn't shrink away. And it was liberating. I could say things I barely even admitted to myself, without ever fearing to be judged. I could be silly, I could be honest, and I could be silent. I could even be awful, and you'd let me. You saw _me_, Matthew. Not the cold and careful Lady Mary. Not the selfish child I was in my father's eyes, the lost cause in my mother's worries. I- In a way, maybe I loved you because you loved _me_. And by the time I saw you for who you were, I was…lost to a sentiment I didn't know I sought. _Amor ch'a nullo amato amar perdona_.*"

"This conversation is getting more and more flattering."

She rolled her eyes because, really, sometimes he was just impossible, and purposely dense, and irritating, and so, so endearing.

"You're right, forget the part in which I said I loved you. I just married you for the money."

"I'm happy too."

She smiled, and accepted his chaste kiss. Because love, yes love was grand, and rare, and overwhelming but also inevitable, and complicated, and unforgiving; they had loved each other through pain, denial and self-privation, when it was unreachable and incomprehensible - but happiness. Happiness was something they had rarely felt during their love, so this, now, always, was suddenly right again. All they had lost was worth this very moment, when they were here, in the Summer sun, on their bench, and tomorrow didn't really matter. Just like that, they closed their eyes and enjoyed the touch of their skin, the leisure contentment at just being. The storm had passed.

.

**The End**

* * *

><p>*"Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving", but more than that it has a second level of reading: Love is unforgiving and it captures you even when it should be forbidden, even when you don't want it too, even when it leads you to ruin, as it happened to Paolo e Francesca (<em>Dante's Inferno, Canto V<em>)

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **First of all: I'm so, so sorry. You know how sorry I am. I intended to update a week ago, but I just couldn't make it work. I hope it was worth the wait, I've been editing this chapter for ages, and eventually I hope it hasn't failed your expectations or disappointed you. The Act and Laws I've used are, of course, legitimate. In particular I made sure to use something that (like the 1916's Larceny Act) was coherent with our time frame. It was pedantic and boring, to quote it, but I thought Matthew had always been a bit priggish, so why not be a bit pedantic? The Gramophone. It was a bit of a stretch, a spy story ploy, but I've been researching analog recording and the Gramophone Record was what was more likely to be in Downton by 1920. The Phonograph Cylinder was obsolete, but digital and electric recording was still experimental so I doubt Mary's relatives would get a hold of a similar machine. And it was said that, while the Gramophone Record's voice quality was somewhat superior, to have a clear recording you had to speak to the horn. Hence necessarily having Mary position herself so that Richard would speak into it. I hope it wasn't too twisted. So. This is the end (how could it not be?). I hope you have enjoyed, and if so, please leave a review. It would mean a lot to understand what worked, and what didn't, and a comfort to know that you haven't hated it as I've been fearing as I was writing. Hoping my confidence won't be shattered, I'll see you when my muse will strike again. Thank you all for your support, I am most grateful.


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